" 'You're like a mom,' she blurted, her mouth still sticky with peanut butter. Only after the words were out of her mouth did she realize what she said. His eyes went wide, and jam spilled down the crust of his half of the sandwich as he squeezed it too tightly. 'I… I'll ignore that if you tell me why your skin is green.' "
The apartment building itself smelled like mildew and microwaved fish, and Shea couldn't help but flinch when the smell hit her. Only one overhead light brightened up the entrance and it flickered enough to be headache-inducing. The man working at the desk, an older guy wearing an oversized cross on a gold chain, looked like he hadn't showered even once since the invention of running water. He looked her up and down, then winked in Drew's direction.
"Feel like sharing, Lipsky?" He asked. His voice sounded like someone with a permanent cold trying to speak by submerging their head in water. Shea hated everything about him instantaneously.
If it weren't for the fact that she didn't want Drew to freak out and decide she couldn't actually stay the night, she would have plasma blasted the slimeball out of the building. And, to be honest, because of the fact that Drew's only response was to look appalled, and immediately, though subtly enough that anyone else might have missed it, move to put himself between her and the creep.
Despite her assumption that Drew knew less about real fighting than a toddler at a ninja-themed birthday party, Shea had never felt so protected. Her brothers knew as well as she did that she could handle herself against the worst of the worst, and they never bothered to stand up for her anymore.
Once, when she was twelve or thirteen, a local news anchor commented to her, on live television, that like most other men, he was counting down the days until she turned eighteen. Her brothers, though they later claimed to be discomforted by his words, said nothing.
Heath's only contribution was to reprimand her afterward for storming off and leaving scorch marks on the wall backstage. Merrick whined for the rest of the day about how she had gotten all the attention when the broadcast should have focused on the way he'd taken down the villain of the week. Wendell and Westley, she forgave because they were too young to understand what the implications had been, but it was still annoying when they cried all evening about not getting to eat the candy that had been left out for them to have after the interview, even after Shea had snuck them both candy bars from her hidden collection.
It felt kind of nice, in a simultaneously uncomfortable way, to have someone act protective over her. It seemed as though he were a momentary barrier between her and all of her past troubles. He felt like a personified version of… oh. She knew then, more like an unspoken instinct than a conscious realization, that she and Drew would, somehow or another, become much closer than some runaway brat and the college student who wanted her gone by the next morning. Everything about Drew screamed out home in a way that home hadn't for years. The way he placed himself in harm's way for her, the way the lapses of silence seemed natural rather awkward, even the way they had bickered the whole walk screamed of home to her, of safety and warmth and something else she couldn't quite place. Love crossed her mind before being quickly dismissed. Acceptance. That was it.
Still standing between her and slimeball, he began to usher her up the steps. After all the walking they had done, they still had to climb six flights of stairs.
Somewhere between the fourth and fifth flight, Shea finally looked down at Drew who trailed just a few steps below her. "Hasn't this place ever heard of elevators?"
"Just keep walking," he grumbled, his eyes focused on the stairs like he'd miss a step if he looked up. Never one to like being bossed around, she immediately stopped to glare at him.
A moment later, Drew crashed right into her. She kept her balance easy enough but worried he might actually go falling backward down the steps. She grabbed his shoulder to steady him without thinking. Was that a hero thing? Or just something normal people did? She hated that she could no longer tell the difference, and hated the idea of having to question her every choice even more.
Once he seemed stable enough she snapped her hand back. "Watch your step, poindexter," she warned, hoping he understood the double meaning behind her words.
"Nngh- stop calling me that," he snapped, sending her a glare of his own. He stormed past her, leaving her to actually have to run up a number of steps to catch him. By the time she did, he was in the process of shoving open the door to the sixth-floor hallway. He didn't hold it for her the way he had when they first entered the building, and she rushed to catch it before it shut and locked her out. She had a feeling, even as angry as he seemed to be, he would have come back to let her in. Eventually.
The silence had officially become awkward as he unlocked the door to his apartment. The keys kept sticking, and it took him three tries to get the door open. When it finally swung open he, once again, didn't hold it for her. She inched inside before the door could swing shut.
The apartment was, as expected, not very spacious, though it was pleasantly, if sparsely decorated. A navy blue sofa and matching loveseat were angled towards a tv stand. Though the television itself looked old, his collection of VHS tapes could rival her own. For the first time since she slipped away earlier that day, she actually missed Go Tower. Her quick scan of the movies showed a ton of nostalgic children's movies, every sort of sci-fi and fantasy out there, and every season of Mighty Martian, but not one good horror movie. Well, no horror movies at all, good or bad.
She considered commenting, but when she glanced over at him the anger still radiating off of him slapped her in the face. He had his back turned to her, and for a moment she watched him as he dropped all of his books on the counter that marked the end of the living room and the start of the kitchen. He still didn't look at her, as he rounded the corner and threw open one of the cabinets. Hunger twisted at her stomach, making her remember with near painful clarity that she hadn't eaten anything since noon.
She trailed into the kitchen behind him, putting the books she had been carrying in a neat stack beside the ones he'd thrown everywhere. She leaned against the counter and asked, "So. Um. Is Lipsky your last name?" trying to alleviate some of the tension.
He glanced at her over his shoulder, then turned back again. She continued to watch him as he pulled bread and peanut butter from the pantry and barely stopped herself from grabbing him when he brushed past her to get to the fridge.
She fidgeted with the hem of her t-shirt, green like most everything else she owned. After what felt like hours of internal debate, but had actually only been long enough for Drew to start slathering peanut butter onto a slice of bread, she decided she should probably apologize if she wanted to try asking him for food again.
He had just finished making the sandwich when she mustered up the courage to mutter, "I- um. Sorry." He glanced at her, sighed, then looked away again to cut the sandwich in half. He took a bite out of one half, holding the other half out towards her. She snatched it from his hands, worried he'd change his mind. He gave her a startled look.
"Your room-for the night- is through that door," he said, jerking his thumb behind him. "Um. The sheets on the bed should be clean, I think I changed them a few days ago." He shrugged and added, "if they're not there's extra in the closet in the hall."
"You're like a mom," she blurted, her mouth still sticky with peanut butter. Only after the words were out of her mouth did she realize what she said. She felt her face heat up knowing that if he somehow hadn't noticed the green skin before he would definitely notice now.
His eyes went wide, and jam spilled down the crust of his half of the sandwich as he squeezed it too tightly. "I… I'll ignore that if you tell me why your skin is green."
"Would you believe me if I said I ate too much broccoli as a kid?" She asked. He stared at her, which she took to mean he would not. "I didn't mean it as an insult, you know." Every bone in her body begged him to just let it slide.
"You realize you're eating my food in my apartment, right? The least you could do is tell me that you're not carrying some deadly virus I don't know about!"
"Well, I'm not," she snapped. "My skins just green, okay? It's not deadly! It doesn't come off! And it's not contagious!" He took a step away from her as she began yelling, and she forced herself to calm down. She didn't want him to be afraid of her, despite her earlier attempt at threatening him. She'd actually started to like the guy and she didn't want to completely ruin her one sort-of chance at having a friend.
She hoped he wouldn't notice her looking at her hands to make sure they hadn't caught fire. They hadn't, which gave her the barest hint of relief.
Right as she considered that she might have to apologize for scaring him he asked, "Are your brothers green too?" He didn't seem all that scared to her anymore, which, gah, he annoyed her just as much when he wasn't scared as he did when he was. What was it about him?
"No." She jumped up to sit on the counter, letting her legs dangle over the side. "But they're not… I don't know, normal, either."
"Is it a genetic thing?"
"Not exactly."
"What makes your brothers abnormal?"
"I think every question I answer should get me an extra night. This is personal stuff, Drew."
He hesitated, then his startled look turned into a smirk. "Counteroffer, five questions get one free night."
She finished the last bite of her sandwich and crossed her arms. She loved nothing more than a challenge. "One big question or three little ones gets a free night."
"No. There's no way I could know for sure which questions are big and which are little. Five questions for a free night. But you can pick and choose what to answer."
"Three questions but I still get to choose what I answer."
"Five questions and I'll throw in one free meal a day."
"Three questions for a free night, two more gets the meal."
Drew stayed silent for a long moment, staring at her. And then he stuck out his hand. "Deal."
She slapped her hand into his and shook on it. His hand was sticky with the jam that had spilled earlier. Though she elected not to say anything about it he seemed to realize as they pulled away.
"Sorry," he muttered and passed her a dampened paper towel. She shrugged off his apology and wiped her hands clean. "So. What is supposedly so abnormal about your brothers?"
She sighed and tossed the paper towel over his head into the trash can behind him. "My oldest brother is kinda blue. Not that most people can really tell. They can tell his hair is blue, though." She paused.
Drew did exactly what she hoped he would do. "What about the other?"
"That counts as two questions!" Her grin widened as she took in his glare.
He crossed his arms and yawned. "Fine. Just answer it. And then I want to go to bed."
"He's purple. Like really purple. His skin, his hair, even his eyes. Also, I have two other brothers."
"I suppose I might as well ask what's abnormal about them, and just let you stay tomorrow night as well," Drew sighed.
Hesitant as she'd been to answer his questions at first, she found herself enjoying talking about it. At least he didn't know to ask about her powers.
"They're twins, Wendell and Westley." Of her brothers, they were the only ones she still liked and the only ones she worried about missing. "Their hair and eyes are red. Not ginger red, but more like that little drop of blood after getting your finger pricked."
"Lovely. I imagine almost every word of that was a lie, but nonetheless, I suppose you can stay tomorrow as well. Cups are here," he knocked on a cabinet above the dishwasher. "Use the filtered water in the fridge. And… well. Don't drink my cocoa moo."
"I'm not ly- wait… Cocoa…moo?"
"Yes. It's mine. You can't have any."
"What exactly is cocoa moo?"
"Nngh! It's chocolate milk."
"Why do you-"
"Because I do, alright?"
"Whatever."
Drew ran his hand through his hair, yawning once more. "I'm going to bed now. Your door locks but only turn the lock halfway if you plan on locking it. Otherwise, it'll stick and we'll have to call someone to get it open."
"Okay. Um… thanks, by the way."
"Sure. Just. You know." Drew shrugged, but she saw the blush that spread evenly across his cheeks. "And yeah. Um. Lipsky is my last name."
And then he turned on his heel, locked the front door, and disappeared down the hall into what she assumed must be his room. Shea stayed on the counter, staring at the second hand of the clock as it tick-tick-ticked. It seemed unreal.
In a weird way, Drew Lipsky's apartment reminded her a lot of home, before the comet. They hadn't been a rich family at all, back then. Heath and Merrick shared a room that had barely fit their bunk beds, let alone Heath's desk and Merricks toy box. Sitting on Drew's counter now, she imagined she could still hear them fighting over who got to sleep on the top bunk that night. Heath almost always came out victorious, until Merrick went screaming and sobbing to their mother.
Shea had shared a room with the twins, for the first couple years of their lives. Her dad built her a lofted bed before they were born. The crib, which had been built to split into two as soon as the twins were old enough, fit neatly underneath. The babies would have been put to bed an hour before her own bedtime, and she learned quickly to sneak in silence up the ladder to her bed if she didn't wish to wake them up. She'd get a silent half-hour, reading from a pile of books next to her pillow by the dim glow of a flashlight. Most nights Heath and Merricks fighting would wake the twins. More than once their cries had interrupted her in the middle of the best part of her story, in which case she'd climb back off her bed, and make the older boys fight worse than it had been, adding her own screams and wild punches into the mix.
Those nights her mother would come in, long before Merrick had the chance to lose the fight, and decide who slept where. Then, she'd take Shea downstairs, pour her a glass of chocolate milk, and they would stay up late, curled up together on the couch, both reading their books.
That was back when her father was just a carpenter, and her mother was just a teacher and they were just normal children.
Shea glanced over to the fridge, the temptation to pour herself a glass of chocolate milk was strong, despite Drew's earlier warning. He was already letting her stay with him, despite her being able to contribute nothing except some half-answers to his questions, which he didn't believe anyway. And already today she had done one thing that he had made a point of telling her not to do. She swung her legs out and leapt off the counter.
"Maybe some other time," she said in the direction of the fridge, feeling ridiculous even as she did. Still, hero or normal person, she thought following Lipsky's basic rule was, in general, the better idea. "Thanks again, Drew," she whispered, glancing down the hall towards his door. It was easier to say when she wasn't looking at him.
Her bedroom, or rather her bedroom for the next two nights, held nothing but a double bed. The blank white walls begged to be painted, covered in posters, anything to stop the room from looking like a hospital room. Even the thought made her sick. She'd spent far too much time in hospitals after the comet struck to be comfortable with them.
Any notion she'd felt that she was meant to meet Drew strengthened ten-fold when she looked at the bed. As if he'd known she would be the one sleeping in the bed, he had covered it in green sheets, a dark black blanket folded neatly at the bottom. The sheets themselves were soft beneath her fingertips, and the clean lavender scent that wafted off them made her feel incredibly grimy in comparison. She almost wanted to take a shower, before climbing in, but the pillows looked so inviting.
With a contented sigh, she closed the door behind her, slipped out of her jeans, leaving her t-shirt on and crawled into the bed. She left the door unlocked.